


Captain America and Bucky

by Lady_of_Lorule



Category: Avengers (Comics), Captain America (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types, Invaders (Marvel), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Action, Artist Steve Rogers, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Underage Sex, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Romance, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:47:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22979371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_of_Lorule/pseuds/Lady_of_Lorule
Summary: Everyone always made the mistake of thinking that Bucky was just a clueless, patriotic boy who signed up for a war he didn't understand because Captain America asked him to. Of course, that was the point. It was easier for the public to accept an underage soldier when they thought he was a propaganda tool, not America's own child assassin.Steve, of course, has his own thoughts about his partner's role in this war.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Thomas "Toro" Raymond, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 87





	Captain America and Bucky

“This way, pal,” Steve said, pulling aside the flap of an officer size tent. Bucky, bag tossed carelessly over his shoulder, strolled right in. Steve marveled at his partner’s ability to fit in anywhere, even a muddy war camp where everyone was at least two years older than him.

“You get all the good stuff,” Bucky teased as he flung his bag onto one of the two rickety cots already set up. There wasn’t much else.

“Hey, we’re sharing this one.”

“Yeah, but if I weren’t your partner there wouldn’t be a chance in hell of me getting a tent this big.”

“Language,” he admonished, but Bucky just rolled his eyes. 

Somehow, Bucky had a dirtier mouth than half the army. He’d probably picked up his vocabulary at Camp Lehigh, surrounded by all those soldiers, but Steve didn’t think a kid should have that kind of a mouth. No decent kid should, really. So he’d made it his personal crusade to break him of the bad habit. It was bad enough he’d brought a kid to a war zone.

“Hey, hey, I know that look, buddy,” the teen said, cutting through his thoughts.

“What look?” he asked, smoothing out his features, but it was too late. Bucky had been trained to read people, especially people who didn’t want to be read. Steve didn’t stand a chance.

“You’re thinking ‘bout how I’m too young to be here and all that crap.”

“I wasn’t.” Steve didn’t even believe himself when he said that. He tried to switch gears. “I know you’re the best fighter in the army, Buck.”

“Damn right I am. But that’s not your problem. Your problem is with my age, don’t even try to bullshit me.”

The super-soldier sighed. His partner knew him too well, better than anyone, if he was being honest. It felt like they’d known each other for years instead of a few short, busy months.

“Fine. I can’t help it. You’re a kid, Buck.” He saw his partner’s tight frown, but he pressed on anyways. “No kid should be in a war zone.”

“That’s bullshit. There are plenty of boys out there who lied on their enlistment forms, boys my age and younger, who don’t have  _ half  _ the training I do. I’ve been preparing for this my whole life, which is more than even you can say.” Bucky’s eyes were filled with fire, a blaze that was always simmering under the surface, waiting to break out. “So don’t get all high and mighty on me, Steve Rogers. You’re only three years older than me.”

Steve raised his hands in surrender. “I know. And you should know that there isn’t anyone else on this whole planet I would rather be my partner than you. I just hate that so many men are going to die fighting, so many boys.”

Bucky started putting on his uniform, still clean and new. “I would be fighting back home too. Might as well give me a shot at some fucking Nazis so I can do some good.”

* * *

“Why are you all geared up, pal?” Steve asked with a frown, looking up from his sketchbook. It was supposed to be one of their rare evenings off, but now he’d caught his partner in the act of slipping on his domino mask.

“Whatcha drawing?” was his nonchalant reply.

He closed the book and set it aside, tucking the pencil behind his ear. Bucky was trying to deflect, and that was never good. He might be a trained liar, but he was shit at lying to Steve.

“Bucky. What’s going on?” he asked again, leaving no room in his tone for avoiding the question.

The teen sighed, straightening. “It’s not a big deal, Cap. I got a mission. I’ll be back soon.”

“What’s the mission?”

“It’s classified. I got specific orders to keep this one quiet, and I know they were talking about you.”

Steve ignored the last bit. “I’m coming with.”

“Oh, no, you’re not,” Bucky retorted, swiping the shield as Steve reached for it.

“Give that back!”

“Nope. This is my mission, my job, Steve, and I can handle it myself.”

“I know you can. But that doesn’t mean you couldn’t use some help, or at least have back-up.”

An odd look crossed Bucky’s face. Then he tossed the shield aside and looked at his partner with his usual cocky arrogance, a look that Bucky had perfected, but Steve knew it was only a mask. His best mask, for when he really needed his audience to believe whatever he said next.

“No need to be a mother hen. I’ll be back soon. Finish those mission reports I know you’ve been avoiding, or get some sleep. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Bucky sheathed a few more knives into the hidden compartments of his uniform, gave Steve one last overconfident smile, and slipped out of the tent.

Bucky’s absence quickly overpowered the small space. They’d been attached at the hip since setting up camp in this base, sharing a tent, going to meals together, only being assigned joint missions. Bucky had a presence that could fill up a whole room. He was always busy, yelling at the baseball game on the radio, methodically cleaning his rifle, laughing his ass off at the latest Captain America comic, or otherwise adding light to Steve’s life.

He tried to open his sketchbook back up, but all inspiration was gone. He tried to do the mission reports that Phillips kept harassing him about, but he couldn’t concentrate. He was intensely aware of every moment that Bucky was gone, and even worse, he didn’t know where.

“Calm down,” he ordered himself after he started pacing the length of the tent for the third time. “Bucky goes on missions all the time.”

He wasn’t sure why he was so panicked about this. Bucky was sent on missions to use the unusual skill set that had been trained into him since he was a boy often. But Steve had nearly always been with him, waiting for the signal to join him, or at least watching his six. But right now all he could do was pace the confines of their tent like a caged animal and wait.

He hated waiting.

* * *

It was hours before his ears picked up the sound of footsteps squelching in the mud. The tent door was brushed aside by a red glove covered in dark stains. Bucky stepped inside, his shoulders drooping and his feet dragging. His uniform was no longer blue, but the color of rust, flaking in some spots and still wet in others. Steve jumped to his feet and Bucky looked at him with blank eyes.

“Told you to get some sleep,” the teen said, but it was missing an inflection, any of the sass or annoyance or  _ emotion  _ that he was usually overflowing with.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, stepping forward and trying to take stock, but there was so much blood it was flowing off him and mixing with the muddy floor of the tent.

Bucky shook his head. “It’s not mine.”

Steve swallowed and nodded. He could find Bucky’s mission report later and read everything that had happened. Right now he was much more interested in taking care of his partner.

“Here.” Steve moved forward and started unbuckling the clasps of Bucky’s uniform. Blood soon coated his own hands, but he ignored the warm drip. Bloody knives and other instruments fell to the floor as he worked while Bucky stared straight ahead at the blank, canvas walls, his eyes alarmingly dull.

Steve reached for his belt and Bucky’s eyes snapped to his face. Steve paused. “Do you want me to stop?”

For a long moment they were still, Bucky cold as ice and Steve radiating heat, ankles deep in the mud, and much too close. Then Bucky shook his head again and Steve let out a breath.

The belt was unbuckled and tossed aside. Next, Steve tugged off the bloody jacket which joined the belt. Bucky’s white undershirt had been soaked through, too, so he pulled that off also, leaving the teen bare-chested in the cold night air, streaks of blood on his tan skin. Also in his brown hair, Steve noticed. Unconsciously, he reached out to touch the soft curls, sliding his fingers into the thick, matted mess. Bucky startled and Steve yanked his hand back.

Before he could apologize, before he could decipher the flash of emotion in Bucky’s eyes, the teen surged up and pressed his chapped lips to Steve’s, messy and desperate and sloppy. He tasted of blood and ice.

Steve pulled back, panting, “Wait.”

Bucky dropped down, but he didn’t seem offended or off-put. His brow furrowed slightly, but all he said was, “Why?”

And, oh God, Steve’s control nearly slipped. He could taste Bucky on his lips, under the blood, and he was half undressed before him. But he reined his own feelings in.

“Not now. Not like this,” he said. It was hard to gauge Bucky’s reaction, but Steve thought he saw a flicker of disappointment, maybe even relief, in those chocolate eyes he had drawn a million times in his sketchbook, trying to capture every emotion and look his partner made.

Steve pulled a shirt and thick socks out of his trunk. When he turned back around, Bucky had already methodically shed his pants and boots. Steve handed him the clothes, which were slipped on without comment. The shirt hung loose, softening his sharp figure, and the socks slipped down because they were so large. But they were soft and warm and not covered in blood.

Bucky made to move to his cot, but Steve grabbed his hand, holding it gently. Eyes, tired eyes, found his face. He gave a little tug and Bucky followed. He backed up until he was sitting on his cot, then pulled Bucky down next to him. Steve ran his hands up and down his hard, thin arms, again and again until the teen began to soften. They were quiet even as Steve’s hands wandered, rubbing over his arms, backs, shoulders, thighs, but never beyond that. Steve kept up his ministrations until Bucky was limp against him.

He maneuvered them so that they were laying down on their sides. Steve snagged the blanket and draped it over Bucky, then wrapped his arms around him. Soon exhaustion took over and the teen fell asleep. Steve stayed awake much longer, the image of Bucky covered in blood and so cold etched in his mind, but his pencils were out of reach.

* * *

“Good morning,” a husky voice whispered in his ear and sleep quickly dissipated.

Bucky’s eyes snapped open and were greeted by the dim sunlight filtering in through the canvas. He was hot, especially on his back, and something heavy was holding him in place. In a flash, he remembered the night before. Sneaking through the dark, knife in hand, blood squirting onto his chest as he watched life leave a body, and then Steve. Steve, with his gentle hands, quiet concern, and warm body.

Bucky turned over, a difficult feat on the narrow cot made for one, not a teenage boy and a super-soldier. The first thing he saw was Steve’s smile, a lazy thing, and his ruffled hair. He was topless and bared to the morning air, but heat still rolled off him in waves. Bucky remembered that that was one of the side effects of the serum.

“Good morning,” he echoed, his eyes dropping to Steve’s lips. He’d kissed Steve last night too, and had been pushed away. That was probably for the best. He hadn’t been in any condition to kiss Steve properly, and that was an endeavor that deserved his best efforts.

So, before he could allow doubt to creep in, he leaned forward again and kissed Steve. He savored it for a second, the wonderful heat and the softness of his lips, before pulling back to look at him.

To his surprise, Steve looked… hungry. Like he wanted to kiss Bucky senseless, maybe do more, maybe keep him in bed all day, and he had to hold back a whimper as Steve’s eyes devoured him.

“Are you sure?” Steve ground out with palpable restraint.

That was just like Steve to deny himself even when it was clear what he wanted. But Bucky knew if he backed away now, Steve would let him. That was what Bucky had liked about Steve from the moment he’d met the man: Steve didn’t boss him around, not like all the brass at Camp Lehigh. Steve treated him like an equal.

“Yeah, pal, I’m sure,” Bucky said with an easy smile, the type he saved for Steve.

That was all the supersoldier needed to hear. He curled his broad hand around Bucky’s jaw and kissed him, hard and clumsy. With a bit of smugness, Bucky realized that he had more experience of the two of them, so he opened his mouth, inviting Steve in, dealing with the clumsiness because Steve was fantastic at everything and was a fast learner.

Bucky moaned as Steve moved along his jaw and down his neck. He ran his hands along Steve’s chiseled chest, feeling the muscle and the heat at his fingertips and allowing himself to explore the dips and valleys like he’d wanted to for months. Steve moved over him, settling between his spread legs, holding himself over Bucky with his hands planted by his head, trapping Bucky in his heat.

“Fuck,” Bucky swore as he felt Steve’s tongue on his throat.

Steve nipped at his ear and growled, “Language.”

He’d never heard that deep, rough edge to his voice before, but it had him starting to harden against Steve’s leg. He bit off another swear as Steve shifted and brushed against his length. Steve groaned, low and deep, the sound vibrating through Bucky, and he felt Steve’s hard-on brush against him, making him gasp.

“You better keep quiet if you don’t want someone to come barging in here,” Steve mumbled, which was unfair because he bit down on Bucky’s collarbone as he said that. The teen stifled a whine.

“I’m not exactly good at keeping my mouth shut, if you haven’t noticed, pal,” he replied, proud at how steady his voice was even with Steve mapping out his chest with his tongue. Fuck, that was hot.

“Guess you’ll have to practice.”

Never, in a million years, could Bucky Barnes have predicted that one day he’d fuck Captain America in a tent in the middle of a camp of thousands of soldiers.

But he sure as hell couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Not one bit.

* * *

“Ready, Buck?” Steve yelled, barreling his motorcycle straight through the knot of HYDRA soldiers.

Bucky pulled out his gun, balancing on the back of the bike in a crouch, his masked eyes assessing the threat. “Try and keep up, Cap!”

He sprung off the bike, flipping through the air and gunning down Nazis so gracefully he made it look easy. Steve watched as fire scorched the earth all around them as Human Torch and Toro completed their part of the mission. Namor was going after some tanks with a small regiment of soldiers. But even in the chaos of battle, Steve’s eye was always drawn back to Bucky.

There was a reckless beauty, a savage art, to Bucky’s fighting. He fought with tooth and nail, elbow and knee, knife and gun, whatever got the job done. He was quick, efficient, and boastful. He taunted the Nazis as they fought, enraging them so they’d get sloppy and give him an opening.

But what really struck him was the joy on Bucky’s face as he tore through the ranks. His laughter rose over the gunfire, obtrusive in the grim setting, but it let Steve know that Bucky was still fighting even if he couldn’t always see him.

The battle was wrapped up quickly thanks to Torch and Toro’s fire barriers that encircled the enemy. Steve saw to taking the leaders captive personally before seeking Bucky out.

He found his partner looting a rations stash from the Nazi base with Toro. They were splitting a chocolate bar, absolutely thrilled to have a treat after weeks on the front line, a new fight every day. Steve watched them for a moment, feeling a weight come off his chest that he hadn’t known was there until he heard Bucky’s laugh.

“Hey, Cap, want some chocolate? These Nazi fuckers have a whole ration of them,” Bucky called once he spotted him.

Bucky was splattered in mud, grease, and blood, but the grin on his face was irreverent, his body full of fighting fire, like he hadn’t come down from the high of battle.

“I’m watching my figure,” he retorted, just to make that beautiful grin hang around a bit longer.

“I’m going to pass the rest of these out to the soldiers,” Toro declared, standing up.

“Save a few for us,” Bucky ordered.

Toro stuck his tongue out, then scooped up a crate then flew off in a burst of flames. Bucky was still grinning as he turned back to Steve.

“You’re not hurt?” He didn’t look visibly injured, but it was hard to tell under all the grime. That, and Bucky liked to hide any injuries he received, even from Steve.

“All good. Maybe some bruising on my back. Some bastard whacked me with his gun.” His nose scrunched in distaste before smoothing out.

“You did good today.”

“ _ We  _ did good today,” Bucky corrected. Steve couldn’t help but grimace, and of course his partner noticed. “What? Did something go wrong?”

“No, everything went fine.,” he quickly assured him, then sighed. “I think all this death is starting to wear me down.”

Bucky frowned, but Steve couldn’t tell what he was thinking, not with the white lenses of his mask blocking his expressive eyes. “What do you mean?”

Steve wasn’t quite sure how to answer. A weariness had been lingering in him for days that only grew worse with every battle. This was the longest stretch they’d had on the frontlines with no relief, and the bodies were piling up on both sides, despite the Invaders best efforts.

“Don’t you get tired of all this fighting?” Steve asked instead of answering.

Steve certainly did. He was a soldier, but in his soul he was an artist. He wanted to make things, not destroy them. And he knew that what he was doing was right, that he was fighting evil and saving lives, but all he could feel was tiredness.

But Bucky just tilted his head. “No. That’s why we’re here. To kick these Nazi asses.” His partner seemed to stare right through him, through his worn veneer and to the core of his exhaustion. “Steve?”

“Sorry. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said—”

“Said what?” Bucky’s eyes narrowed, and Steve couldn’t follow whatever new direction his mind had just veered to. “What? Be honest with me, pal. Are you disgusted by me?”

That hit him like a punch to the gut and he staggered back. “No!” he denied instantly. “Bucky, no, of course not!”

Because that was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Yet Bucky was moving forward with that same determination in his eyes, clearly not believing him. “I kill people, Steve. Lots of people. And sometimes I like it.”

His words cut straight to some recess of Steve’s soul. Into the part of him he’d had to shove down so he could do his duty. Bucky’s frown deepened every moment Steve didn’t answer, interpreting his silence as disgust instead of shock.

“Just say it, Steve,” he snarled.

“You don’t disgust me,” Steve said fiercely, gripping Bucky’s shoulders and meeting his masked eyes. “You don’t, and you never could.”

The teen softened as Steve ran his thumb over his shoulder, not able to offer any other comfort with so many soldiers around. Only the Invaders were aware of their relationship, and neither of them had any plans to let anyone else know.

“I don’t like killing,” he murmured. “I don’t like all this endless fighting. But just because we have different viewpoints on that doesn’t mean I judge you for that. Okay?”

“Okay.”

A smile quirked at the corner of Steve’s lips. “Good. Now come on, pal. I heard there’s chocolate back at base.”

Bucky snorted but allowed himself to be led back to the motorcycle.

* * *

“Now this is what I’m talking about,” Bucky declared, throwing himself onto the huge, plush, king-size bed. He practically disappeared among all the blankets and pillows.

“Don’t get too used to it, partner,” Steve cautioned, closing the blinds. “I’m meeting with the Prime Minister in the morning, then we’re shipping back out.”

“Stop being the voice of reason and let me enjoy this heavenly bed, wouldja?”

Steve smiled at the pout in the teen’s voice. His eyes skimmed over the enormous suite they’d been provided with. There were two bedrooms, but without a word they’d decided to share. Steve checked that he’d locked the door, that Bucky’s firearms weren’t  _ too  _ close to the bed, and that there were no hidden cameras before he allowed himself to relax.

“I guess we should take advantage of the situation,” Steve said, raising an eyebrow playfully.

“Yes, we should. And I have a great idea.”

Bucky had repositioned himself on the bed so that he was stretched out, legs spread. He was in his crisp brown uniform, rows of pins shining on his lapels, his hat already discarded, freeing his brown curls. Steve groaned and stepped forward, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“What if someone knocks?” Steve forced himself to ask in the semblance of responsibility.

Bucky ran a hand down his body distractingly. “Ignore ‘em. You’re Captain America. You can get away with anything.”

That was all Steve needed to hear. He tore off his shirt, kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed. Bucky laughed at his eagerness, then choked as Steve wasted no time in tugging down Bucky’s pants. The super-soldier looked at him with an incredulous expression.

“Did you really go commando?”

“Had a feeling we’d end up here, anyways,” the teen replied, reaching his hands to bury them in golden locks. “Fuck, Steve, don’t stop now.”

But Steve wasn’t done. He kept depriving them of all their clothes, placating Bucky’s whines with hot kisses. Finally, they were bare, both panting and hard on the white sheets. Steve took a moment to stroke Bucky’s cheek tenderly, the way he always wanted to, but could never do in front of all the soldiers and people that seemed to surround them twenty-four/seven.

Bucky groaned. “Steve, if you don’t touch me soon, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Steve leaned down to press a lingering kiss to his swollen lips. “Love you, too.”

* * *

“I hate all this goddamn, fucking snow,” Bucky grumbled, scowling at the gray sky and anyone who looked at him too long.

The Invaders and a regiment of soldiers were returning from a long recon mission. The forest was covered in a thick blanket of snow and all the soldiers were bundled in as many layers as they could get their hands on. Camp was still a mile away, but Bucky had lost feeling in his fingers two miles ago.

“We’re almost back to camp, Buck,” Toro assured him. Of course, Toro could set himself on fire. The cold wasn’t bothering him. He was prancing about in underpants feeling nice and toasty.

Just like Jim Hammond. The Human Torch was walking at the head of the column in his spandex suit, perfectly comfortable. He was with Namor and Steve, who, due to their own unique physiology, were also incapable of feeling cold, at least not at this temperature. Which meant that Bucky was the only Invader who was suffering. Great. Fucking great.

“You’re not the one freezing your ass off,” he replied, not in the mood to be consoled, not even by Toro.

“I’d help if I could, but Torch told me it’s too risky.” Toro did seem genuinely upset. His control wasn’t quite good enough that he could raise the temperature without bursting into flames, which was too conspicuous and dangerous in enemy territory.

“It’s fine.” No reason to inflict his bad mood on his buddy. “I’ve survived worse than this.”

Which he had. But that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t rather be nice and warm, preferably in a bed, a big one, with Steve. The memory of their night in the hotel was haunting him, the warmth of the memory long gone.

“Alright, pals?” Steve asked, dropping back from the front to check on the youngest soldiers. His eyes quickly detected the slight tremor to Bucky’s frame and his brow furrowed under his helm.

“Just peachy,” Bucky snapped, unable to feel the brush of his fingers against his holster.

“The cold’s getting to everyone,” Toro said diplomatically.

“Camp’s around the bend.” Steve’s gaze settled on Bucky, his eyes expressing all the worry he couldn’t vocalize.

“We’ll survive,” Bucky replied, meeting his stare, showing him that he wasn’t about to drop. Steve gave a sharp nod, but hovered by him all the way back, which was unusual, but Bucky was too tired and cold to take much notice. He felt a vague happiness at having him close, even if they couldn’t touch.

“Captain, Invaders, welcome back,” the commander said they trudged through the gates into the base. “We just need a debriefing, then you’ll be free to rest, Captain—”

“The Human Torch will take care of the debriefing,” Steve ordered, clapping Jim on the shoulder. The android did a good job of hiding his surprise.

“I’ll be of any help I can, Commander,” Jim said, Toro at his side.

“Excuse me, but Captain Rogers, this was your recon assignment—”

Steve grabbed Bucky by the shoulder and began steering them away, completely ignoring the commander. Bucky laughed as he heard Jim start making frantic apologies.

“You’re going to get court martialled one of these days, pal,” Bucky said, then clamped his mouth shut to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Come here,” Steve retorted, tugging him into their tent with a sharp pull. Before his eyes could adjust to the dark interior Steve was pulling his coat off of him, warm hands moving all over his body.

“Whoa, plenty of time for that, Cap,” he joked.

“Shut up and let me take care of you, punk.” Steve then tugged off his own uniform and Bucky shut his mouth. Steve wore a long sleeved shirt under his colorful kevlar, which did a fantastic job of accentuating his muscles, but it too was quickly stripped. Bucky muffled his cry as Steve forcefully pulled the shirt over his head.

His first instinct was to swear at him, but the shirt was so warm, as warm as Steve, so instead he kept his mouth shut. Steve had a look in his eyes that meant he knew exactly what Bucky had been about to do.

“Come on,” Steve said, wrapping his arms around the lean assassin. “Let's get you warmed up.”

* * *

“God, I needed this,” Bucky exclaimed, his hands stuck in his pockets and his head tipped back to look at the rare sunny day.

Steve just grinned, his half finished drawing on his lap. “I’d like to say this is my birthday present to you, but it just happened we got sent to Paris today.”

“Hey, Steve, I’m legal now,” he chirped, but the look he sent Steve was smouldering. “Now your enormous guilt complex is unfounded.”

“Damn. I’ll need to find a new hobby since brooding is off the table,” the artist replied dryly. Bucky laughed, brown hair turning gold under the bright sun. Steve felt lucky to be seeing such a beautiful sight. He knew even if he drew Bucky in gold it wouldn’t capture the moment properly.

“You know what else I’m legal for now?”

Steve groaned. That tone was pure mischief. “What?”

“I can drink now!”

“Not in the US.”

“But we aren’t in the US,” Bucky said as if explaining a concept to a small child. “We’re in Paris.”

“And age restrictions have never stopped you before. From doing anything.”

Bucky scowled, though he could tell his partner wasn’t really annoyed. “It’s my eighteenth. Shouldn’t you be nicer to me, pal?”

Steve smirked. “There’s a bed inside. I can be plenty nice to you before we have to meet up with Jim, Toro, and Namor.”

Bucky traipsed out of the sun and to the small table by the patio where Steve was sitting. Then he sat down very deliberately on Steve’s lap. Steve’s hands came up automatically to grip his small waist. 

“I have a better idea,” the teen whispered in his ear, pressing the ghost of a kiss to the column of his neck. “Let’s go on a date. You can take me dancing and drinking like a proper gentleman.”

“Buck—” Steve groaned.

“I’ll bet I’m a better dancer than you.”

“Buck, we can’t.”

Steve’s heart broke as Bucky pulled back, fire dancing in his eyes.

“Why not?” he demanded.

“You know why.”

Bucky’s mouth tightened. Steve hated the words coming out of his own mouth too, but he also knew that he was right. He wished they lived in a world where he and Bucky didn’t have to hide their relationship, but they did. And Steve wouldn’t allow anyone to discriminate or shun Bucky for who he was, for who they were.

“Maybe I don’t care what everyone thinks about me,” Bucky retorted.

Steve touched his cheek gently. “ _ I  _ care. You know what people will say and do to you. I can’t be a part of something that will hurt you.”

Steve could tell he was still angry, but he shoved it behind a mask of acceptance. The face he presented when he disagreed but knew better than to fight. Steve hated it.

“I understand, Steve.” Bucky made to slide off his lap, but Steve held him in place.

“Wait.” He reached up to his neck and his fingers brushed cool metal. He pulled the dog tags off and held out the chain, then gave Bucky a crooked grin. “Sorry, I don’t have a ring.”

Steve smirked as pure shock flashed across Bucky’s face. “What are you doing?”

“Promising that if it ever becomes possible for us to stand before a priest I will marry you, Bucky.” Steve lost some of his confidence, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he added, “If you’ll have me?”

Bucky surged forward and kissed him hard, teeth banging and sloppy, hands tangled in Steve’s short hair. Then he pulled back, shook his head and said, “Well, no one else would deal with your stubborn ass. Yes.”

Steve smiled, heart thrumming, and kissed him again before slinging the tags around Bucky’s neck. Bucky gave his own tags to Steve and they kept kissing, too happy to care they were being sloppy, that they were outside, that anyone could walk in. Nothing mattered but each other.

Eventually they just held onto each other, their tags bumping and jangling against their chests.

“Just so you know,” Bucky mumbled, pressing his lips to Steve’s neck, “if that day does come when we get to stand at the altar, I expect a real ring, Rogers. Gold and everything.”

“So demanding,” he teased, kissing Bucky’s hair.

“Better get used to it.”

“Guess so. What about last names?”

“Whadda ‘bout them?”

“Are you going to be Bucky Rogers?”

The teen scowled. “Hell no. Why should I change my name? You can be Steve Barnes.”

“Steve Barnes,” he mused. “I could get used to that.”

* * *

“What are we going to do after the war?” Steve wondered aloud.

Bucky’s steady rhythm of push-ups went uninterrupted as he answered. “Whaddya want to do?”

“Before the war, before I volunteered for the serum, I wanted to be an artist. I always imagined myself working for a comic book publication,” Steve replied, admiring the strength in Bucky’s lean form. He’s sprouted up a few inches in the past year, but he was still all long limbs and a wiry frame. Despite that, he wasn’t even shaking well into his third set.

_ Huff _ . “You still could.”  _ Huff. _

Steve’s lips quirked into a smile. “I don’t think Captain America is a one-time gig. I think I’m going to be a mascot for the rest of my life.”

_ Huff, huff.  _ “Haven’t you heard of a pen name?”

Steve leaned back. That wasn’t a bad idea, actually. Of course, he wanted to get credit for his work, but if the government still wanted him, he wanted some way to share his work with the world.

“I might just do that, pal,” he admitted. “What about you?”

Bucky did one more push-up before climbing to his feet. His white undershirt was translucent with sweat and his curls hung lank into his eyes. Steve made a mental note to get haircuts for the both of them.

“I don’t know,” the teen admitted. “All I ever wanted to be is a soldier. My dad was a soldier, I grew up in Camp Lehigh surrounded by soldiers. I’ve been training since I was thirteen. I’ve never considered doing anything else.”

Fighting was in Bucky’s blood, the same way art was in Steve’s. What an oddly perfect pair they made.

Bucky lifted his gaze to meet Steve’s eyes. “But I know that as soon as this war ends I want to hug my little sister. And then I’ll follow you wherever you go.”

Steve frowned. “That doesn’t sound like a great plan, Buck.”

“Why not?” he challenged, hands on his hips. “I love you, Steve. And I know that your job doesn’t end with this war, and I know that I don’t want to be without you.”

“What if,” he said slowly, staring deeply into those burning chocolate eyes, “what if this war ends and I hang up the costume? What would happen then, do you think?” Steve spread his hands. “We could get a place. Live a normal life. I could do my art. You could go to college—”

“Buddy, I didn’t even finish high school.”

He plowed on. “—or find a job, or mooch off me.” Bucky snorted at that suggestion. “I don’t know. But I think that might be nice.”

Bucky crossed the short distance between them and sat on the edge of the bed next to him. He raised a hand and gently stroked Steve’s cheek, a tender expression on his face. “You’re such an idiot,” he said endearingly.

Steve choked. “What?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Sure, an easy life sounds nice when you say it like that, but it would be fucking hell for you. You think that after all of this you’re going to be able to melt back into the masses? No. You’re going to keep fighting. Maybe not in a war, but you can’t just sit back and watch the world. You’re a leader.”

A small smile crept across Steve’s face. “You know me too well, pal.”

“‘Course I do. I’m also the only one who understands your weird-ass sense of humor.”

He let his head fall forward onto Bucky’s chest. The teen ran nimble fingers through his golden hair, humming lightly. Steve let his eyes fall shut. The longer he thought about it, the more he realized that Bucky was right. He couldn’t go back to being a civilian. Not now. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself, that he’d changed so much.

“Though to be fair,” Bucky said after a moment of contented silence. “You’re the only person to ever look at me and see anything but an army brat.”

“Because you’re a lot more than that,” he replied without having to think.

“Yeah, yeah, no need to get sappy on me now.”

Steve smiled into his chest. Then he heard a boot crunching on gravel penetrating the dull buzz of the camp outside. He shoved Bucky away quickly. A flash of hurt crossed the teen’s face before a voice called, “Captain Rogers!”

“Enter, soldier,” Steve replied, his face smoothing into a calm, intelligent mask, the face of a leader, of Captain America. Bucky put on his own a mask, a smirk tugging at his lips and a casual lean of his body. Playing up to the stereotype of an irreverent teen.

The flap was pulled aside and a soldier entered, snapping a salute. “Commander Phillips wants to see you, sir.”

“Thank you. Tell him I’m on my way.”

The soldier left as abruptly as he’d come. Steve looked up apologetically, but Bucky was already grabbing his jacket.

“Let’s go, Cap. The Commander needs us.”

* * *

Steve treaded slowly down the hallway, the eerie silence setting him on edge. Bodies, bleeding out on the floor and making the ground slick, littered the corridor, their lifeless eyes damning him even beyond the veil. It was unnerving, but nothing he’d hadn’t become somewhat accustomed to.

“Careful,” Jim murmured to Toro as the boy’s foot slipped in the blood.

“Bucky did all this?” he whispered back in disbelief.

Jim and Steve didn’t answer him. They kept moving down the seemingly endless passage, bodies at regular intervals. A corner finally came into sight. Steve slowed, giving a signal for Jim and Toro to hang back. He unslung his shield and rounded the corner. Before even his enhanced eyes could adjust to the sudden darkness a foot jammed into his stomach, followed quickly by a jab aimed at his throat, but he was able to turn his head to avoid the blow.

“Bucky, stop!” Steve commanded. Even in the pitch black he recognized his partner’s fighting style and outline. God, he hit hard.

The figure paused. “Cap?”

“Yeah, it’s me, pal.” He hung up his shield. Bucky stepped forward into the light. His pants and boots were mud splattered, and it looked like he had a minor wound on his thigh, judging by the way his hand was covering it, red seeping between his fingers. Blood continued to stain all along his torso and even a smear on his face, but he could tell there were no more injuries. “You good?”

Bucky tried to smirk, but it faltered. “Always.”

“We’re bandaging that back up as soon as we’re out of here,” Steve ordered, eyeing his thigh. Bucky didn’t say anything and Jim and Toro rounded the corner. Jim’s hand was aflame, providing illumination.

“Is it clear?” Jim asked, looking at Bucky steadily.

“All security is eliminated,” he reported in a detached tone. “I cut the communication lines. For at least an hour, we should be completely alone.”

Steve nodded. “Torch and I will go to complete the mission. Bucky, Toro, stay here.”

Toro frowned, but didn’t argue. Bucky was unresponsive. Steve cast him a worried look, but departed without another word. Toro lit up his hand when Jim’s light vanished. Silence stretched between the two teens.

Toro couldn’t look away from his best friend. Finally, he blurted out, “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” came the laconic response.

Toro frowned. “Buck. You know you don’t have to do this stuff. Cap would understand. Hell, he’d probably support you.”

“You don’t get it,” he said flatly.

“What?”

“I’m not upset because I killed all these people. I’m upset because I liked doing it.”

* * *

Steve opened his eyes and was immediately bombarded by a variety of faces peering down at him. A strange metal mask, a large blonde man, then a  _ giant and a pixie.  _ He jerked upright as suddenly remember falling, burning, freezing, screaming—

“BUCKY!” he yelled, lashing out.

Everyone began yelling as he thrashed. Insanely strong hands held him down and the lights were flashing, but Steve didn’t care, he only fought harder.

“Where’s Bucky? Is he okay?!” he snarled at his captors or saviors, he wasn’t sure which. And he wasn’t sure he cared.

“Captain America, calm down, please!” a small voice said. The pixie he’d seen flashes of grew instantly into a beautiful woman. Steve didn’t stop struggling because of that, though. He paused because she had an American accent. They all did, except the handsome blond man holding him down, but his accent wasn’t German. In fact, Steve wasn’t quite sure what kind of accent that was.

“Thank God,” the robot (man?) said, his voice distorted by the mask.

“Thank you, Captain. We are friends, I promise, and we will answer any questions you have,” the woman said.

“Where’s Bucky?” Steve repeated, his jaw set.

She faltered and his heart stuttered in his chest. He made to stand, but was restrained by the blond man again.

“This is going to be hard to hear,” the metal man said and Steve turned to glare at him, “but you’ve been out of the world for a very long time, Captain.”

Steve braced himself. Probably a few weeks, maybe a year or more. Whatever. He could adjust. He just wanted to know if Bucky was okay, and the more this strange group stalled the more worry built up in his chest, taking his breath away.

“You’ve been gone for sixty years,” he finally blurted out. “It’s 2005. World War II ended a long time ago.”

Sixty  _ years?  _ How was that possible? How was he still alive? He didn’t feel any older, and his body didn’t look any different, still clad in his suit. Could they be lying? No. No, the look of heartbreak on the woman’s face couldn’t be faked.

Fine. He could figure this all out later.

“Where’s Bucky?” he asked quietly.

“I’m so sorry, Captain. Bucky Barnes died in 1945 off the coast of Zola’s island. We thought you had died that day, too, until we found you drifting in the ocean. It’s a miracle that you’re still alive.”

Dead. Bucky’s dead. Steve didn’t hear anything that came after that. Bucky’s dead, he’s gone, that bomb killed him, Steve had told him to jump, but he’d been stuck. He’d died and Steve hadn’t saved him, but he was still alive, but what good is that without Bucky here with him?

“Captain? Are you alright?” the giant man asked hesitantly.

Instead of answering, Steve sucked in a breath and asked. “Who are you?”

“We are the Avengers,” the blond man proclaimed.

Avengers. What a sick joke. Steve hadn’t avenged anyone. All he’d done was get the best person in the universe killed.

* * *

“Remember, it’s better if you avoid talking to the press,” Tony said, as if Steve wasn’t used to this talk. “Avoid eye contact, too, if you can.”

“I know what to do.”

The billionaire shrugged and slumped back in the limo seat. That was one thing Steve had never imagined in his future: the luxury and wealth that he would be surrounded by. Admittedly, it was all Tony’s, but he was generous with his money. A bit  _ too  _ generous, in Steve’s opinion, but that was just his Depression era upbringing talking.

The limo rolled to a stop. The door was opened and the two superheroes slipped out. A red carpet led to the grand building where Stark Industries was hosting a charity gala. And all along the carpet stood a sea of reporters.

“Captain Rogers! Mr. Stark! Over here!”

“Who are you wearing, Mr. Stark?”

“Where are the other Avengers, Captain? Is the team breaking up?”

Steve’s head spun with voices and lights. He decided to listen to Tony, just this once, and keep walking. The reporters kept yelling his name, but he didn’t pause. Occasionally, Tony would pose for a photo or give a hilarious one-liner to some lucky journalist, but for the most part he kept pace with Steve.

They were almost to the open doors when a reporter yelled out, “Captain Rogers, what is your opinion on gay marriage?”

He paused and turned around. The question had come from a male reporter from a notoriously anti-gay media site. A shiver of fear and worry trickled down Steve’s spine, a left over reaction from when a childhood of bullying and abuse.

“Excuse me?” he demanded coolly.

The reporter replied, “Captain, the American people would like to know your opinion on gay marriage! As a symbol for this country and its values, you must—”

“—be in full support of everyone being able to marry whoever they love, regardless of race, religion, gender, or any other factors,” Steve finished, staring down the man, who now looked horrified. Every camera was on him now.

“Captain Rogers! Captain America!”

“Captain America, are you yourself a member of the LGBT community?”

The new flurry of questions and shouts poured over him, all asking the same thing, over and over. In response, Steve spun around, grabbed Tony by his lapels and kissed him on the mouth for all of America to see.

The crowd rioted. Steve hustled Tony inside and the doors were promptly sealed behind them. The super-soldier raked a hand through his hair, taken aback by the brashness of his own actions.

“Pepper’s going to be so pissed,” Tony declared, seeming oddly delighted with the prospect.

“I’m sorry, I swear I wasn’t trying to make a move on you,” Steve groaned.

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I know you’re not interested in me like that. Though I am curious, Cap, are you actually gay or did you just want to give that homophobic reporter a heart attack?”

He rubbed his face and sighed. “I didn’t exactly grow up with all these new terms, but I believe I’m bisexual. That’s not what people like me got called in the forties, though, which is why I haven’t said anything to you or the team.”

“None of us would judge you for who you like,” Tony said sincerely and some of Steve’s worry drained away at the easy acceptance that he hadn’t had since the Invaders washed over him.

“I also couldn’t stand that guy,” he added and Tony grinned. “This is going to hurt me, isn’t it?”

“Oh, must definitely. America’s Golden Boy just announced in a splendid fashion on live TV that he’s gay. You’re going to be all over the news.”

Steve lifted his hand to reach for the dog tags that were now at the bottom of the sea, tags that had stood in for rings. It hurt every time he remembered he didn’t even have that small comfort anymore.

“Just one more question, if you don’t mind,” Tony said, though Steve knew he wasn't really asking for permission. He nodded anyways. Tony’s smile turned lupine. “Have you ever been with a man?”

A phantom knife embedded itself in his chest as an image of brown curls and fiery eyes the color of chocolate flashed in his mind. Everyone kept telling him that it would hurt less with time. Steve understood why they said that. The loss of his parents, ever present, was no longer painful. But Bucky was different. Missing him hurt every goddamn day in a new, equally painful way.

“The love of my life was a man.”

* * *

Steve’s display at the gala went viral, of course. And like Tony said, the Avengers still accepted him with open arms. What Steve hadn’t expected were the offers that started pouring in.

News stations and talk show hosts invited him to talk about his sexuality. A few authors, especially LGBT authors, were begging him for the right to interview him for their books, whether about history or Steve himself. He was conflicted. It was a secret that he had lived so long with that having it be common knowledge was jarring.

“What should I do?” Steve asked Natasha and Tony as another news segment discussed the implication of Steve’s decision to ‘come out.’ His jaw tightened every time they got something wrong.

“You probably don’t want to take public relations advice from me,” Tony pointed out.

“He’s not wrong,” Nat agreed. “And, remember, you don’t have to say  _ anything  _ if you don’t want to.”

“But they’re getting everything so wrong,” he ground out, glaring at the TV. Bucky would probably find this whole mess hysterical. For someone who worked in the shadows, he had loved the spotlight.

“They’ll keep getting everything wrong whether you say anything or not. That's showbiz. They all just want ratings, not the truth.”

“TMZ is claiming you were in a committed relationship with the Sub-Mariner and that he’s the one who froze you in the ocean for so long,” Tony reported as he scrolled through his phone.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at Steve as if to say,  _ I told you so. _

“I was never in a romantic relationship with Namor,” Steve exclaimed in exasperation. He could hear Bucky laughing at the idea in his head.  _ You and ol’ Subby, huh? I didn’t know Subby had feelings.  _ A nostalgic smile spread across his lips. “That's ridiculous.”

“This will blow over soon,” Natasha said consolingly.

“Yeah, until LGBT rights pop back up in the news and everyone turns to Captain America.” Nat glared at the billionaire. He blinked at her. “What?”

Steve rubbed his face. He knew what Bucky would do if this happened to him; he would flaunt it. He would crow it from the rooftops and beat up anyone who dared to judge him. He would kiss Steve where everyone could see it, and he would march with other LGBT people for the right to gay marriage. And he’d wear that gold ring proudly.

Steve could honor Bucky’s dreams even if he could no longer make them happen.

“Say I wanted to clear all this up,” Steve said, his mind made up. “Who should I talk to?”

Nat and Tony stared at him in shock.

* * *

In the end, Steve sat down with a popular, well-respected news reporter for a famous show. He felt comfortable enough. It was a small recording crew, not live, and he had a seat to himself across from the reporter. They began easy, talking about his accomplishments during World War II and as the leader of the Avengers. Then they hit the part that Steve had been dreading.

“Now, recently you kissed Tony Stark, aka Iron Man, on national TV in response to being asked whether you are a member of the LGBT community.”

“Yes, I did.” He gave a short smile.

“The media and the public have run rampant with theories since this event. Captain, would you care to explain your intended meaning tonight?”

He took a deep breath, then said, “I am not in a relationship with Tony Stark. But I am bisexual.”

“Thank you. Was it hard growing up in the thirties knowing you were bisexual and when did you realize you liked both men and women?”

“I was pretty young,” he admitted. God, it felt strange to be talking about this. “Maybe eight or nine when I realized most boys didn’t find other boys attractive like I did. And it was hard. I was bullied and attacked physically and verbally when I was a teenager for my sexuality. I’m sure you can imagine all the names I was called. ‘Fairy” and ‘faggot’ were some of the nicer ones.”

The reporter nodded sympathetically. “Is that why you never came out until recently?”

“Old habits die hard, I guess. I’ve spent so long hiding that piece of myself that I had trouble realizing how much times have changed. But last week wasn’t the first time I came out.”

“Oh? When did you first tell someone you were bisexual?”

Steve leaned back, old memories flooding up of his family, his first family. The Invaders had accepted him just as openly as the Avengers. They had even helped conceal his relationship with Bucky when needed. God, he missed them. Namor, the only one still alive, did not exactly have time to reminisce about old times with Steve.

“I first told the Invaders.”

“You mean your super-powered team from World War II comprised of the original Human Torch, Toro, King Namor of Atlantis, and your sidekick Bucky?” he clarified.

“Yes, and Bucky wasn’t my sidekick. He was my partner. In more ways than one.”

There it was. The whole truth, the one he had been keeping in for so long. Everyone in the room was staring at him in shock, but Steve didn’t care. He had done it. He was sure Bucky would be proud of him.

“You mean to say that you and Bucky were romantically involved during the war?” the reporter asked when he finally managed to regain his composure.

Steve nodded. “We were engaged. I proposed to him in 1944 and promised that when it was legal, I would marry him. I— I never got to keep that promise. Which is why I am in full support of the legalization of gay marriage.”

* * *

“They’re going to make a movie about you and Bucky,” Tony reported as he entered the room, flopping onto a couch. “They’re talking about Chris Evans playing you, but they haven’t cast a Bucky yet.”

Steve set down his newspaper. “I heard about that. I got a phone call asking if I wanted to consult on the film.”

“Please tell me you said yes.”

“I turned them down. I don’t like a movie about me being made while I’m still alive. It’s creepy.”

Tony rolled his eyes.”Do you know how many movies have been made about you, Cap?”

“That's different. Those are ridiculous propaganda films or incomplete biographies. This is personal. They want to make it a romantic movie.”

“What’s wrong with that? I’ve been the star of multiple romantic movies myself.”

The soldier frowned. “I know they’re going to get Bucky all wrong. They’re going to make him some young, love-struck kid who is the epitome of virtue and innocence, like in all those stupid newsreels that Bucky used to laugh at. He deserves better than that.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “The obvious solution here is for you to consult on the movie and make sure that never happens.”

Steve thought of Bucky as a skinny teenager absolutely destroying soldiers in a training drill; of Bucky swearing like a sailor and getting drunk with the Howling Commandos; of Bucky with a knife in his mouth as he crawled through the mud; of Bucky coming into their tent late at night covered in blood that wasn’t his. Then he thought of his partner in the newsreels, the actor always much too young saying things like ‘Gee, Cap!’

“Nobody wants to know what Bucky was really like,” Steve finally told Tony. “And they  _ can’t  _ know. His missions during the war are still sealed. Whatever they make, it can’t be the truth.” A sardonic smirk crossed his face. “‘Sides, having Bucky slit throats might take away from the romantic angle.”

Tony stared at him in concern. Steve held in a sigh. He wanted to believe his humor was just out-of-date, but no one had understood his jokes back in the day either. Except Bucky. God, he missed Bucky so much.

A week later he met the Winter Soldier.

* * *

“I can’t stay here with you, Steve,” Bucky said, leaning against the tall window and looking out at the city lit up by electric lights. Steve wondered if Bucky was as jarred by the modern world as he was. Somehow, he doubted it. Bucky had always taken craziness in strides. His best friend had been able to light himself on fire, after all. Craziness was no stranger to him.

“Of course you can,” Steve protested. He was aching to wrap his arms around Bucky, but he didn’t move from his spot a few feet away, arms crossed to further restrain himself.

“You know what I mean.”

His frown deepened in response. He knew Bucky could see his reflection in the window.

He also did know what Bucky meant, but that did very little to sway him. He had only just gotten Bucky back, and it had taken the use of a cosmic cube. He didn’t want to lose him all over again.

“I wasn’t the only one they experimented on,” Bucky continued. His hair fell into his eyes, but he made no move to brush it away. Steve wondered if he liked having long hair, or if just hadn’t occurred to him to cut it yet. “There are more weapons out there, more ‘Winter Soldiers.’ And I’m the only one who can find them.”

“Then let me help. Let’s do this together, like we always did,” he argued instantly.

A wry smile, the only flicker of emotion he’d seen from Bucky yet, spread across the assassin’s face. “Steve, you know we sure as hell didn’t do everything together. You know I had missions that even I couldn’t share with you.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. He hadn’t been entirely sure how much Bucky remembered. He was no longer a mindless assassin, that much was obvious, and he clearly knew who himself and Steve were, but otherwise he hadn’t alluded to any other memories. If anything, learning he really did have his memory back only made it harder for Steve to consider letting him go.

“I can help. I promise to follow your lead.”

“No way. I need to do this myself, and you have a team depending on you.”

“The Avengers can survive without me.”

“Can they?”

Steve switched tactics. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Bucky finally turned around to face him with a fondly exasperated look. It was so familiar and he’d missed it so much that Steve felt like he’d been sucker punched. He’d had days when he would have  _ killed _ to see that expression just one more time, and now he could, but Bucky was leaving and why did everything in his life have to be so complicated?

“Steve,” Bucky said slowly, pronouncing each word carefully. “My head is supremely fucked up. It's a shitshow up there. And there are gaps in my memory and things just layered on top of each other, but I know that I need to do this. And I know that I need to do it alone. Because if you’re there I’m not going to sort through any of this fucking mess, I’m just going to get swept up in you all over again.”

Steve dared to step forward and reached up to place a gentle hand on Bucky’s cheek. The assassin stiffened, but didn’t stop him, so he took that as permission. Light stubble rubbed against his palm. “I want to help you. And I never want to leave you again.”

“You never left me,” Bucky said fiercely, grabbing Steve’s arm tight enough to bruise. “And you wouldn’t be leaving me now. I  _ need  _ this. I need time to...fix myself.”

He searched Bucky’s eyes and was met with steely resolve. Another familiar look. He sighed and pressed his forehead to Bucky’s. “Promise you’ll come back.”

“I promise.”

Steve fumbled as he pulled something out of his pocket. Bucky watched with wary eyes as Steve stepped back, and then gasped as he kneeled down, holding aloft a ring.

“I seem to remember making another promise to you,” Steve said, smiling to hide the nerves and fear that was coursing through his veins. “Well, we can finally go find that priest. If you still want to marry me?”

For a moment, Bucky was deathly still and Steve worried that he’d messed up big time. But then Bucky was dropping to his knees, seizing Steve’s face and kissing him like the world depended upon it. It was painful, and messy, and desperate, and longing, and a million things, a million emotions that couldn’t be expressed in mere words and Steve melted into it. As they kissed, he slid the ring onto Bucky’s fingers, then reached up to touch his chest, in the place where dog tags used to lie.

“I hope you know a priest,” Bucky growled between kisses.

“I’m sure we can find one,” he moaned back.

“Good, because I’ve already waited sixty years. I don’t want to wait one fucking second more.”

**Author's Note:**

> I just really needed a story with comic accurate origin for Bucky. I love his MCU version, but I love his comic self even more, and I couldn't find any comic fanfics with young Bucky during the war, and it made me sad so I wrote this for myself. I hope you liked it.


End file.
